Harvest
by Emerald-Water
Summary: Something behind him rustled the corn. He dropped, covering his head, closed his eyes… and in that very second a scream drifted over to him... "Sammy!" hurt Sam/minor hurt Dean, mean spirit, cornfield, possession - hope you'll like it!
1. Intro

Hello!  
I'm back from my vacation and I worked hard. This is what comes out when you drive too much car. See fields of corn, summer, fog-banks... well...  
It's a little more Sam - hurt/comfort this time. But Dean will have his moments too.

It's also sort of a kudo to Jared for playing the bad-Sam soooo great in "BUBAS". I loved him that moment.

As you know, I don't own them... never will... don't ask for money, just plain enjoyment ;) - here we go now!

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**Harvest**

Dean stood bent over, with flushed cheeks panting heavily. He hated this hillbilly-outback. The sun beat down on him, making him dizzy, tired, hot and cold at the same time. He was mighty pissed.

Shaking his head, to clear his vision, he turned around. His brother couldn't be any better.

"I tell you Sam, next time you tell me something about an easy hunt, piece of cake, yadda, yadda, I'll not listen…" he hold up his index-finger, "… I'll not listen and just throttle you!" He blinked, as suddenly the ever present sun – at least for the last two hours – vanished. It took a moment for his frizzled brain to register what was going on. He choked and started to laugh hysterically. "Oh COME ON! You can't be serious! Fog-bank? Didn't we go through all clichés yet?" he spread his arms, his whole demeanour showing off his defiance. "Sam, I'm so gonna kill you!" Dean threatened, grabbing his gun; he put the safety off, shouting angry: "You think you're such a cool spirit? Doing all this oh-so-scary ghostly thingy? You know, letting me sizzle in the sun, and now fog? You really gotta be kidding be. Show up, and I'll redeem you from your pathetic Casper-Show!"

The fog had reached him now, enveloping him, cooling down his too hot skin, shivers stating to wrack his frame, letting him feel vulnerable and that lead to more irritation.

All he could hear were the soft sounds of corn, which moved in the slight breeze. He couldn't make out anything in the thick fog, his gun-arm raised, hold steady by his other hand he continued, slowly now, alert.

Something behind him rustled the corn. He turned around in one swift movement, but couldn't see anything. His shivers grew heavier, and his free hand, the one supporting his gun-arm went up through his hair and over his face. They had to get outta here. He didn't like it one bit.

At that moment, the whole field around him started to come alive. He dropped, covering his head, closed his eyes… and in that very second a scream drifted over to him. He shot up, putting the gun back in the waistband of his jeans, forgetting the danger, the spirit, the hunt – everything!

He knew this voice; dread filled the back of his throat with bile. Again the scream sounded over to him, and he started to make a dash for it. _Help him! Help him! I'm coming!_

**"SAMMMYYYYY!"**

_TBC..._

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Well? What do you think? Worth to work on it? Stupid idea?

Lee

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	2. Chapter 1

Hey there! Thanks for your reviews... enjoy the first chapter of harvest.

Lee

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_**Earlier…**_

Sam sat on his bed, reading the article about their next possible gig, trying to ignore his brother. Dean was obviously bored. The only way he found to enjoy himself, was chewing on paper, building little balls, throw them at his brother and try to annoy Sam to beyond. Another slobbery paper ball landed near him and Sam, being the little brother, just did what he could best. Ignore!

He heard Dean sigh, trying his best to not smirk and looked up from the screen. "What?" Sam asked. "You're hungry?" Dean asked, not waiting for Sam's answer but just continued. "I'm hungry. I think I just drive to the Diner down the street." He plopped another piece of paper into his mouth starting to chew.

"Nah, I'm good." Sam answered his attention already back on the screen. It took Sam a moment to realize that Dean hadn't moved yet. As he looked up irritated, he felt something wet hitting his face, while Dean started to snicker.

"Ewwww, Dude, you're so much more than gross!" Sam scrunched up his nose in disgust, wiping at the wet paper, while doing his best to scowl at Dean.

"I asked if you're hungry!" Dean tried again, still smiling mischievously, while at the same time trying to look innocent.

This time it was Sam's turn to sigh. He shut down the computer, nodding in surrender. "Fine. We can as well talk about the whole situation, at the diner."

_SPNSPN_

They sat in a booth at the towns little diner, enjoying the homemade food, while talking silently about their newest hunt.

Dean had just finished his breakfast, chewing on the last bit as he asked. "So, no one died so far?" Sam nodded. "Yeah. It seems the spirit doesn't kill – at least yet. But to me it looks, as if it's just a matter of time, before we get the first killing. The latest victim, Burt Hanson, lost his hand." "That's mean!" Dean said scrunching up his nose. "Yeah, but you don't want to know where they found it." Sam continued, his voice dropped to an only to Dean audible whisper. "They found it in his stomach." "Ewwwww, dude!" Dean exclaimed, loud enough, that the few people that were with them in the diner, looked up from their food.

"However, I think I got a lead at what is causing these accidents. I found a local le…."

Sam stopped as the door crashed open, and a petite looking blond rushed in. "Angela! Angela!" she screamed, every ones attention turning to her.

"Frank… oh my god… it's… it's Frank…" her index-finger showed to the door.

Sam felt suddenly the hair on the back of his neck rising in foreboding. One look at his sibling told him, Dean felt the same. Sam turned his head just in time, to see someone walking… no… stumbling into his field of vision. Dean jumped up from his seat, dashing for the door, and he was on his brother's heels, shouting at the waitress – Angela – "Call 911!!"

Dean was at the man's side, trying to grab his arms, and withdrew his hands, as the guy started a throaty scream, his right fist trying to catch Dean on the jaw. Dean had no problem in avoiding the guys punch. Then Sam was there, checking the guy, trying to assess the man's condition, while starting to talk softly. "Hey, you're Frank, right? Frank? Frank? Can you hear me?" he asked, the man. Frank stopped his futile attack on his brother, looking in distrust at Sam. "Frank, you don't look so good. Do you want to sit down? My brother and me, we want to help you, okay?" Frank's gaze wandered from Sam to Dean, still distrust evident on his face, but his eyes now not as blank anymore as a few seconds ago. Finally Frank nodded. "Okay, okay. Let us help, yes?" Sam continued, nodding at Dean and together they lead the injured man from the street, and lowered him down on one of the buildings walls. Frank started to shake now, both brothers recognizing the signs of shock; Dean shrugged off his bottom-down shirt draping it over the shivering from of the man, while Sam continued his talking.

"Frank, the paramedics are on their way, okay? We need you to stay awake for us, can you do that? Do you hurt?" He saw Frank's quiet nod. Encouraged by this Sam continued. "Can you tell me where?" he asked, his eyes leaving the man's face to meet his brothers stare.

From the corner of his eyes he saw tears running down the man's face as he shook his head no. Irritated, he turned back to Frank. "No? You can't tell me where you hurt?" Sam asked confused for a moment. "Sam…" Dean's voice was small. Again, Sam looked up to meet his brother's eyes. "Dean?" His brother had turned pale. "Dean?" Sam asked again, Dean made a motion, as if to grab for him, but it was too late. The man, Frank gave a gurgled noise and threw up. The blood splattering on Dean's shirt, the asphalt, over Sam's feet and his shirt and jeans and boots.  
Blood was everywhere now.

Frank's eyes dropped close. His mouth hanging open, his breathing almost not noticeable anymore. Sam could hear the sirens wailing far away, but it didn't matter right now. What mattered was what he could see, or better what he couldn't see. Frank's agape mouth was empty, only blood still splashed from the wounds where his teeth and tongue once had been. Sam felt hands on his shoulder pulling him up and out of the way, so the paramedics, who suddenly were there, could tend on Frank. The hands on his shoulders lead him away, then opened his bottom-down shirt and shrugged it off, leaving him shivering slightly and only in his t-shirt and jeans. He looked up to see it was his brother. Dean had maneuvered him back to the Impala, opened the door of the passengers-side of the car, one hand still keeping the contact, never leaving his shoulder. He pushed Sam down, then and only then, the hand on his shoulders vanished. Sam wondered what Dean was doing and why Dean had took off his shirt. It was a cool morning, too cold to be sitting in only a t-shirt… He owlishly blinked up in his brother's face, as he was suddenly wrapped in one of the Impalas blankets. "Thanks!" he whispered, his teeth suddenly chattering.

Dean crouched by his side. "You're okay here for a moment?" Dean asked.

Every fibre in his body screamed "no", but Sam only nodded slowly. Dean gave him a gentle smile. "I'm right back, okay?" Sam nodded, and laid his head back, closing his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the blanket.

Dean watched his brother for a moment in concern, and then turned around, walking back to the paramedics. From the busy commotion that surrounded the hurt man, Dean knew it didn't look good. He hesitated for a moment, watching one of the paramedics barking out harsh orders, while working to intubate Frank. Angela, the waitress stood a few feet away, tears streaming down her face. Dean glanced over at her for a moment, his attention however was drawn back, to the paramedics and the victim, as suddenly a loud screech replaced the steady beep of Frank's heart-beat. He watched in morbid fascination, as they tried to reanimate him.

"We have him back!" the paramedic in charge suddenly screamed, dropping the paddles, and checking the pulse at the nape of Frank's neck. "Let's get him to St. Mercy's!" he motioned for his co-workers to hurry.  
"Ma'am! Ma'am, you can't ride with us! We need room to work on him." he holds up his hands, stopping the movement of the waitress. Dean was at their side, as the woman went into hysterics. "Frank! FRANK!" she screamed. He shot daggers at the medic pushing him out of the way.

"Angela… Angela. Calm down!" he put his hands on her shoulder, at loss of words. He hated these kind of moments. "Angela…" he forced her to look at him, while he heard the doors of the ambulance shut close. "Angela. You need to stay calm. Okay?" he asked her, watching the tears streaming down her face. "Frank needs you. You need to be strong for him, okay?" he continued. The ambulance left with blaring sirens.

"He'll die! He'll die! There was so much blood! He'll die!" she babbled as she started to hyperventilate. "Angela!" he watched helpless as her eyes rolled back in her head and all he could do, was catch her, as she fell.

"I need a little help here!" he yelled to the onlookers.

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TBC...

Poor Sam was a little shocked at all the blood I think... but he's a tough little fellow, he'll cope ;)


	3. Chapter 2

Hey all! Thank you for the reviews. I know I was a little blood-thirsty, concerning Fank. But well, what must be done, must be done ;) - see what will happen next...

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The motel-room was quiet. Dean sat on his bed, watching TV, the sound muted, while at the same time keeping an eye on his brother. Sam slept in the other bed. Dean would have forced him to rest, but Sam had already been half asleep as they finally made it back to the motel-room. So all he had to do was helping his little brother out of his soiled clothes, grabbing a pair of sweats and a clean T-Shirt and tucking him in. He grinned. It had been quite some time, as he was allowed to tuck Sam in.

TV without sound was boring, Dean decided. He went over to the small table, grabbing the laptop of his brother, booting it up, and was about to do some research instead of wasting time. He would hunt this stupid thing down.

He almost jumped as his cell phone rang. Hurrying to let his brother sleep he answered the call, also he didn't recognize the phone-number.

"Yeah?" he answered quietly. "Dean Franklin?" he recognized the caller immediately. It was Angela Dawn, Frank's wife. The waitress at the diner. And he could hear she had cried.

"Yeah, it's Dean." He confirmed. Dean heard Angela sob. "Frank's in a coma." She said, her voice sounding scared and helpless. "I… I… I just wanted to let you know about him. You and your brother were there to help… and you told me to call if there was any news…" another sob let her stop.

"Angela?" he asked, as she didn't continue. "Angela!"

"They said he would probably not make it. It's fifty-fifty! He lost so much blood. His heart stopped twice while on the way to St. Mercy's. He… he could have suffered brain-damage for all we know. He… I…" she took in a shaky breath after she had thrown all her worries at him.

"Angela? Remember? You need to be strong for him. I know it's…" he changed the cell phone from one ear to the other, looking over at his brother, who still slept on.

"Listen, Angela. I know it's awful. I've dealt with things like that as well. I…" he stopped a moment. "… I was often in charge for my brother when we were young, and one time I screwed up so badly… I… I didn't know what I'd done if he hadn't made it then…"

"I… I know what I'll do." Angela said her voice now calm and determined.

"Angela?" Dread filled him, suddenly. "Angela, what are you talking about?"

"I gonna go for this psycho. I gonna find and kill him." She answered him.

"Angela! No!" Suddenly his voice was loud, forgetting about Sam sleeping nearby.

"Angela, you can't go after it. Leave it to… leave it to the authorities. Frank needs you. You can't…"

"Oh yes, Dean. I can. And I will. I know where Frank was today. And I'm already there. I gonna kill whoever… whoever it is."

"Angela! Stop it. Wait for me… for us. Sam and me. We'll help. We… we're…" he was at loss for an explanation.

"It's not your fight, Dean." She answered.

For a moment Dean felt helpless. "The hell it is! It is always our fight. You need to be on your husbands side Angela. Let Sam and me help out. We're hunters… we… we know how to find…"

"Not your fight Dean…" she whispered over the phone, while crying… then the line went dead.

"Angela? Angela! DAMN!" Dean yelled, waking Sam in the process.

"Damn, Damn, Damn…" he continued to curse.

"Dean?" Dean stopped, looking at Sam who in return looked at him, confusion marring his face.

"Sammy… sorry. I… that was Angela – the waitress. How are you?" Sam seemed to think about Dean's question for a moment. "I'm okay. Sorry for freaking out back there… and thanks for helping me out." Dean for once didn't tease Sam. "I think I wouldn't have felt better being puked on and drenched in blood. Sam shrugged. "How's the man doing? And what did she tell you at the phone?" Dean's face went dark. "Well, Frank's not really good, at the moment." Dean waited for Sam's reaction at the news, but Sam only shrugged again, indicating Dean to continue. "Listen Sammy, Angela went after the "psycho" that did this to Frank. You and me both know that's no good idea, right? We need to go after her. You never told me about what else you found out in your research."

Sam suddenly grinned. "Well and here he is, always calling me geek-boy." Dean grinned in return. "Well, you wouldn't work that hard on it, if it wasn't for me to challenge you."

Sam stood, stretching his limbs. "Let me tell you what else I found out…"

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... TBC... stay tuned in... I think the next part is going to be pretty interesting ;)


	4. Chapter 3

Hey there! Let's start with a small glimpse in the past... Sam digged deep to find out about this history ;)  
Special thanks to **darksupernatural** and **romi** for their help in this chapter!! You guys rock ;) - LOL

Lee

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_August 6th__, 1805_

_Esmeralda cried. Their tormentor stood there, grinning sadistically, holding out the knife. She sat on the ground, bleeding from several wounds, Isaiah lying nearby not moving anymore. She couldn't even tell if he still breathed. Simpson indicated her, to get up, as she didn't comply fast enough, he grabbed her, yanking her up on her hair. She wept, his knife coming to a rest on her throat. "Shhh, hush bitch." His knife moved down her throat along her body. She could hear him breathing harsh. "What do you want to do now?" he asked. She shuddered unintended._

"_I thought you gypsyfolk liked it rough?" he asked her, his voice hoarse. "Guess you don't like to tell me yes while your – what do you call him – I guess not husband, huh? While this shit is around!" He kicked Isaiah hard, laughing menacing. As he raised his knife to kill her husband, Esmeralda stopped thinking. She just reacted. A loud wailing sound escaped her throat, as Simpson plugged the knife into Isaiah's chest, cutting him open in an upward movement. Simpson whirled around, the knife glistening in red. "I damn you Cutter Simpson. You'll never find rest with what you've done. You'll be hunted by the spirits of those you tortured, they will linger around you, and their smell will never go away. You'll be condemned. You'll be tortured by their rotten flesh..." His knife came down on her, almost severing her head off her neck, blood splashing in every direction, drenching Cutter Simpson with it. _

"_Bitch!" he panted, everything quiet now. _

_The wind freshened up, rustled the field of corn he had dragged his victims into. And with the wind an ever so slightly voice completed the spell. "My blood taken, you're godforsaken…" _

_SPNSPN_

Sam had told Dean everything he had found out about Cutter Simpson and the stories entwined about him. A gypsy-tribe had accused him of the murder and disappearance of two of their own. But there was never evidence that the couple had fallen victim to manslaughter through Simpson's hands. The man's reputation however was destroyed after this incident. He lived the rest of his life alone in an abandoned farm house out of town, getting stranger and weirder over the years, until he was found dead, hanging from the ceiling of his home. Cutter Simpson had killed him self at the night of his 51st birthday. The stories about why he had committed suicide never died over the years. Many people believing now, that maybe his conscience couldn't deal anymore with the crime he had committed by killing the couple; that the accusations of the gypsy-tribe had been true.

It took only half an hour for Sam to tell Dean what he knew. Cutter Simpson was buried at the town's small cemetery. It wouldn't take long for them to find the grave, dig it up and salt and burn the bones of the old bastard.

Sam also had found out that Simpson had lived outside the town. His house, of course, was long destroyed by time and weather, but his property had been sold after his death to no other than Frank Dawn's family.

The Winchester brother's were on their way out of town now. Indiana's afternoon-sun was burning down on the fields. Harvest was near. The endless fields of corn were heavy and ripe. Dean stopped the Impala in the middle of an overgrown dirt track where once the farm house of Cutter Simpson must have been. Right before them another car was parked. It was a red Pick-up truck. Sam nodded at the car. "Wasn't it parked at the front of the diner?" he asked. Dean turned his gaze from the car to his brother and nodded in return. His jaw set. "Yep. Positive. Let's get a move okay? I guess whatever there is, Angela is not prepared…" he didn't finish the sentence, but left the car, moving to the trunk and opened it.

_SPNSPN_

Angela ran. She couldn't be far from the car now. She knew the field must come to an end. Something behind her rustled the corn, letting her almost stumble as she looked back over her shoulder. She was scared. She didn't know what was following her, but she knew it was strong. It had ripped the shotgun out of her hand with such force, her wrists still hurt from the pull. She bled from several small cuts and abrasions she had suffered from her flight. Again the corn was disturbed behind her, her pursuer gaining ground. She stumbled, this time falling hard, and then the thing behind her was there. She tried to scream but already she was overwhelmed and there was no air left for her to cry out…

_SPNSPN_

Sam and Dean walked side by side. They didn't know how much time had passed, before they could hear the wailing sound echo through the densely grown cornfield. They stopped dead, listening for more, trying to tell the direction the cry had come from, but couldn't define the source. Suddenly movement was everywhere around them, the hot sun vanished behind a black cloud, strong wind rustling the corn. Dean could hear Sam scream out and as fast as the sky had went dark and the wind had arisen, it was back to a normal summer-day.

Only Dean was alone. Sam was gone…

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...TBC... - yeppers, now it happened... Sam's gone!!


	5. Chapter 4

Hey all! Thank you for the replies! It's cool, that you like the story... well, let's see what's going on right now... I think it will get a little confusing now, at who's bad and who's not - but everything's going to be okay (... sooner or later) ;)

Lee

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Sam lay dazed on the dry and hard ground. He felt awful. Hot, sweaty… his head hurt, and with hurting came nausea. He tried to swallow it down, but it didn't work, after the first dry and fought heaves he puked, rolling over on his stomach to not choke on his own vomit. With disgust he crawled away from the awful stenching puddle, plopping back and trying to calm down his breathing and his rebelling stomach. His head throbbed in the rhythm of his heartbeat now, which was, by the way, far too fast and far too thready. It took him minutes to remember what it was that had brought him to the here and now and another couple of minutes to remember that he wasn't alone and that his brother didn't know that they had been totally wrong about their assumption about who or better what was haunting this place. Dean… with a groan Sam fought his way into a sitting position. He was about to get on his hands and knees when he felt the air pressure around him drop. Sam's body didn't even found time to react, as he was attacked again. He felt a hard and painful knock between the shoulder blades, that let him go down again with a pained grunt, then the same force turned him around and something invaded his very being, surrounding him in a black, dark cocoon. He tried to fight the intruder and thought he could hear the whisper of a man, menacing and cold. _"This time we will not let her finish. This time we will be faster. This time we will break the curse…" _everything appeared crystal-clear for a moment, then the world grew dark and Sam was trapped inside his own body.

_SPNSPN_

Dean ran. He panted heavily in and out, ignoring the cuts he had sustained while chasing through the cornfield. He hated this job. He had to get to Sam. "Sammy!" he tried again, even if now his voice wasn't as loud as before. He wasn't going to collapse. Collapsing meant failing Sammy. And that was not an option. At that moment something connected hard with his side, letting him stumble and fall, doing an ungracious turn while he fell. He landed on his side, having a good look at what had brought him to fall and swallowed dry. Their whole research had been wrong. _Shit-shit-shit!_ Then the branch came down on the side of his head knocking him unconscious.

Angela fell to a heap at the ground beside him crying softly, while stroking his face. "Sorry, my love. Sorry, but I had to stop you. Rest. I'll be here when you wake up. Everything's going to be okay…"

...

Dean stirred. He couldn't remember for a moment where he was, but as he felt the stale taste of bile and blood in his mouth the memories rushed back. It was dark now and he still was in the cornfield. With a small whimper he flopped himself on his back, his head swam for a moment, the right side of his face and skull was on fire. Something rustled nearby, and then he felt gentle hands guiding him up into a sitting position. "Shhh, be quiet. He'll hear us. He'll kill us. You have to be quiet." As he recognized the voice, he shrugged of her hands, and turned around angrily. She sat beside him on her haunches, her face bloody and tears stricken. For a moment he stared at her, blinking to clear his vision. But his eyes didn't betray him. It was Angela, but at the same time he looked at someone else. It seemed like two persons inhabited the same body. He saw Angela and at the same time he could see in her face the face of another woman. Wavering like the surface of a disturbed lake. But it was there, nonetheless. "Angela…" he whispered, but was hushed again with the strange voice, that was Angela's, but at the same time wasn't. "Shhh, quiet. He can't be far away my love. I will not let him kill you again." Dean put his hand on the side of his head, looking at the blood on his finger as he drew it back. He was totally taken aback as Angela suddenly moved forward, wrapping her arms around him and hugged him tightly to her. He went rigid, forgetting how to breathe, as he felt her breath on his ear, and her slight and gentle whisper: "You're hurt. I'm so sorry… so sorry… but I had to stop you. You were running right to him, my love. He'll not kill you. I'll keep you safe… I'll…" she stopped her rambling, as the slight breeze suddenly turned into a gust of wind. Her hands withdrew from the embrace she had held Dean in, standing she challenged. "I know you're here Cutter Simpson! We played that game so often since the night years ago. I'll not let you kill him again!"

A cold and heartless snicker sounded through the field. Dean stumbled to his feet, still holding his head, and willed the world to stop the nauseating dance in front of his eyes.

He saw Angela being knocked down by an invisible force, and withdrew his loaded gun, finally understanding the whole situation. Again he had to shake his head to get a clear vision, the gun steady in his hand but he couldn't have been prepared for what happened next. He felt a hard blow to his midsection, the gun being ripped from his grasp. He doubled over and went down, as something hit him hard between the shoulder blades. After another kick to his ribs, he tried to roll himself into a tight ball, but the cold laughter stopped him from doing so. His vision was blurred, but he could definitely see Sam towering above him. He blinked several times to clear his vision, and saw Sam's foot drawn back for another vicious kick. "Sammy…" his voice was hoarse. Sam stopped. Something in his face letting Dean's stomach flutter. This wasn't Sam he suddenly recognized. At that moment Angela was back and launched herself at him. Sam's kick caught her, her cry turning into a painful whimper. He saw Sam grabbing the woman, shoving her out of the way but the time was enough for Dean to recoup. He scrambled backwards, seeing the shiny metal of his gun, trying to reach the weapon. Then Sam was there, plopping himself down hard on his hurt ribs, letting him grunt in pain. He blindly searched for the gun on his right side, while bucking to get Sam off of him. The face that shone through, distorting his brother's gentle features into a grotesque mask smiled nasty, while Sam drew his knife, the shiny blade twinkling. Deans attempt to get Sam off of him grew. He wriggled to overcome the two millimetre space to his weapon. Then the knife came down, and Dean could do nothing. His movements froze as the shiny blade aimed for his chest in a fine bow, looking into the face of his brother and the ghost. A blast clanged through the night; he saw Sam jerking as the rock salt bullet hit him, knocking him off of Dean. The spirit possessing his brother dissipated with a screech. Dean almost choked in relief. But it was cut short, as he felt cold hands touching him, words were spoken that he couldn't understand, someone pulling him up, and letting him rest against something soft, while his brother lay motionless a few feet from him. He couldn't get his limbs to move. Exhausted he closed his eyes catching his breath, gaining strength so he could go help his little brother. Before he slipped into unconsciousness again, he heard the ghost in Angela whispering softly: "I told you he'll never kill you again. Rest my love. I'll stop him now and forever…"

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... TBC... so this was the next chapter, revealing another piece of the story. See ya tomorrow for the next part - TC


	6. Chapter 5

Hey all! Thanks for the reviews again! I think this chapter has a little bit of drama in it... and first I wasn't at all pleased with the outcome... but with a little dramatic music at the end, I think it's really okay... tell me how you think about it...

Lee

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The first thing Sam was aware of was that he was bound and gagged. For a moment he thought about what had happened, but his mind came up blank. He dared to open his eyes and was greeted by his brother lying a few feet away.

Dean's eyes were closed. Dried blood on the side of his face told Sam that Dean was hurt and that was enough to get him to move.  
With the first motion he cried out into his gag. His whole chest seemed to be on fire. He looked down in panic and saw several small patches of blood on his torn shirt. Choking on the sob that escaped his throat he tried to move toward his brother, screaming Dean's name through the gag in an attempt to rouse him, but before he was able to drag himself a couple of feet, a booted foot stopped him and flipped him on his back. He whimpered softly through his gag, trying to swallow the pain that cruised through his body. Sam looked into Angela's distorted face. Though it seemed as if her face wasn't hers anymore. He could see a second face flowing over Angela's smooth features. While Angela's mouth seemed to be neutral, the ghostly feature of the woman that possessed Angela grinned wickedly.

"I told you you'll never kill Isaiah again. I'll end it tonight. You'll die and Isaiah and I will be united again. It was you who killed my husband, you bastard will pay!" she spat.

Sam shook his head in return. They had been wrong. It hadn't been the spirit of Cutter Simpson that had mutilated these men. It had been the ghost of one of his victims. A hard blow stunned him, as the ghost of Esmeralda started her revenge on the person she thought was Cutter Simpson. And another, and another, and another… he felt his blood rush through his body carrying nothing but hot pain with it. It all ended as a second blast disturbed the otherwise quiet night, letting Angela flew back and the ghost of the gypsy-girl scream in rage as it dissipated.

_SPNSPN_

They more stumbled than ran, but right now it was the best thing they could do. Dean was carrying Angela in a fireman's-carry, while trying to drag Sam along. He was on the verge of collapsing himself right now, but they had to get out of this field. These two spirits were on a war-path tonight. Again he almost buckled as his brother beside him stumbled and he had to grab him tighter to keep him upright. Sam was a mess right now. He was disoriented, bloody, shaking and Dean had to yell twice at him before he got a reaction. Still, he was on his feet, trying the best he could offer right now to help.

After he had shot at Angela, Dean had crawled over to him. He knew they couldn't stay long, that they needed to get out of here. As he reached Sam, his little brother had already tried to sit up, but his bound hands had hindered him. Dean's arms shook under the strain, as he helped Sam sit and steadied him while searching for his pocket-knife to undo his kid brother's bound and raw wrists. Sam slumped backwards after Dean had finished cutting through the ropes and got rid of the gag for him, dragging in ragged and unsteady breaths. He almost didn't manage the weight Sam put on him, but he locked his elbows letting his sibling lean into him for a moment of comfort.

Dean was pulled from his reverie, as suddenly the wind freshened up, blowing into their faces, as if it tried to prevent them from leaving. He pushed himself once again, grabbing Sam's arm tighter. "Just a couple… of steps… nearly there!" he panted through clenched teeth. He fell backwards as an invisible force ripped Angela from his grasp and cried out, as he went down, taking Sam with him.  
In front of him, he could make out the shadow of the Impala; they were only a few feet from their goal. He wouldn't give up. With an angry grunt, he grabbed Sam by his arms, dragging him to his feet, not wasting time to look back at Angela. Another gust of wind announced the second spirit. Dean pushed harder. He could feel now a pull, something trying to pry Sam away from him, but his grip on his little brother was vice-like. The pull grew stronger and stronger, almost to much to bear. Then Sam suddenly went totally unresponsive, crumbling into Dean. Dean staggered, as he now had to keep Sam's whole weight and at the same time tried to stop the ghost to pull him back into the field.

Something hit his head hard, letting him forget for the fraction of a second to hold onto his sibling… and then Sam was gone. The wind now even won on force, dancing around him with harsh and taunting laughter. Dean stood there, swaying for a last moment, then with two stumbled steps he was out of the field.  
Drained of all energy, Dean fell, lying face down on the grass gasping in and out, trying to keep the panic at bay. A feral, unearthly scream reverberated the night. Dean turned around, scrambling backwards looking at Sam and Angela both standing at the border of the field.

"You can't leave!" The spirit of Cutter Simpson screamed furious. "I'll not be cursed again tonight!"

"You have to stay with me, my love! I have to safe you. You'll not die tonight. This is the only way to break the curse!" Angela's words were spoken softly. "I forgive you for hurting me. Just come back to me…"

Dean shuddered. He looked at his brother, the feeling of failure almost drowning him.

Then Angela turned to Sam. "You'll die tonight. You'll never kill him or me again. I'll kill you before!"

The attention of the ghost of Cutter Simpson was drawn to Angela. "I killed you once bitch! I'm surely will kill you another time. And this time, there will be no time for you to curse me!" Sam spat. His face contorted to a sneer.

Dean saw everything happen in slow motion. His brother produced, with an incredible fast movement, a knife. Angela stood frozen to her spot, as Sam drew his hand back for one fatal blow.

Before Dean knew it he was on his feet, screaming at the top of his voice: "Angela, RUN!" Sam's head jerked to his direction, but it was too late. Dean was near enough to block the deathly strike, taking on Sam's movement, he threw his brother over his bending hip. The knife flew into the darkness of the cornfield. Panting Dean stared into the dazed eyes of his brother and the scowling face of the ghost.

"Isaiah…" Angela whispered. With one swift movement Dean had turned around. "No! I'm not! You don't have to safe me. This time I have to safe you." He pointed on his still dazed brother on the ground. "He's stronger. You'll not be able to kill him. So, you run and you hide! I'll take care of the rest. DO-YOU-GOT-ME!" He pronounced every single word. Angela slowly nodded, backing away from him. "RUN!" he yelled at her, and finally she turned and took off, back into the field.

He felt movement behind him, but already Sam was on him. With a strangled cry, Dean's feet were tugged from under him, and the ghost of Cutter Simpson straddled him, pinning his arms to his side. "I like it, when they fight!" he stunned Dean with a blow. "And you like to hurt your little brother, right? I tell you, his shoulder hurts like hell!"

Dean bucked him off his hips with one swift movement, both rolling in the dirt.  
"Son of a bitch!" he panted. This time pinning his brother under him, but Sam, or better the ghost only laughed menacing.

"I'll end this tonight. No one will die. Not Sam, not Angela, not me. The only thing that will die is you. And I'll watch your bones burn and smoulder!" Dean saw the first time something like fear cross over the spirits features. Then the rage and hate was back.

"You're Isaiah. You're pathetic. You died first!" The invisible force of the spirit knocked him off of his brother. Dean used the power of the throw, to roll and get back on his feet.  
He stumbled the couple of steps back and out of the field. Again, the ghost in Sam screamed in rage.

Dean's face was set. Determination replacing the pain, fear and exhaustion.  
"I'll break your curse, I promise!" Dean growled. "The only way, it will be broken tonight… the Winchester-way. Sicko!  
Then in a desperate and more gentle voice he said: "Sam, I'll come back for you, okay? Just hold on!"

He hated what he had to do, but it was the only way. He couldn't get Sam or Angela out of this field. The spirits of Cutter Simpson and the gypsy-girl needed human counterparts. Sam had told him that it seemed that the circle started again every 51-years-anniversary of Cutter Simpson's death. Every 51 years he relieved the crime he had committed, killing Esmeralda and her husband Isaiah. That was the night Esmeralda had cursed him. And now he thought the jinx only could be broken, when he killed both of them before she spoke the spell. Esmeralda on the other hand thought the curse would be broken only if she saved her husband from death by killing Cutter Simpson.  
Either way they needed blood and tonight was the night. Frank and all the others had been alone; plain but simple - wrong place, wrong time.

He grabbed at the keys of the Impala, knowing that he had to hurry. "You'll be okay, Sammy. I'll end this."

And he did what he never thought he could do. Leave his brother behind, to burn the bones of Cutter Simpson. It would end then, because he was almost certain that Esmeralda, who had spoken the curse was bound to Cutter Simpson. The spell keeping him restless, also had taken its toll on the gypsy-girl.

"_Hold on Sammy, just hold on!"_ was the endless mantra that he repeated over and over, while he rushed to the small cemetery.

* * *

... TBC... well? what do you think?


	7. Chapter 6

Hey there! You still with me here? Well, we're almost through ;) Only few steps to go... just like Dean and Sam in the last chapter... Thanks for sticking with me ;) - you guys rock!!

Lee

* * *

_**Early the next morning…**_

Sam stumbled through the cornfield. He felt odd, somehow light-headed and… god, did he hurt. He repeatedly looked down on his front to see the blood that seeped through small wounds, his head too jumbled to recognize that he had been shot. The only thing he knew was that there was danger. He couldn't say what danger, all he knew was, that he had to get away from it. So he tried to keep walking. He knew his brother must be here somewhere but had given up calling him. His mouth and tongue felt like sandpaper. And there also was the nagging feeling of abandonment, he felt.

He stumbled, going down hard this time, his already hurting shoulder and chest sent daggers of hot, white pain through his whole body. For a moment he tried to get up again, but he was too exhausted to fight anymore. His eyes drooped, as he slipped into unconsciousness.

...

Angela just cowered there, her whole body shaking. She only could remember bits and pieces of the last hours? Days? She just didn't know. Her lips were parched and she tasted the coppery taste of her own blood on them. She remembered talking to Dean Franklin on the phone, before leaving her car, going to hunt… Frank! She had forgotten about Frank. Now it was too late, she knew. She could feel her blouse being heavy and wet from the blood, not knowing how she had achieved the tiny wounds that bled and made her body scream in pain. Slowly she fell on her side, drawing her knees near to her beaten body, encircling them with her arms and closed her eyes against the already burning sun. She hummed quietly to herself, keeping her mind occupied and didn't try to think about the strange images that flashed up constantly, not making any sense... and while she lay there, she got lost in the horrors of last night...

...

He had been quite an attraction, as he stumbled into the diner early in the morning of August the 7th. Everyone went dead quiet, seeing the young man, covered in dirt, the right side of his head caked in blood as he limped into the small store.

He was beyond exhaustion. After burning the bones of Cutter Simpson, he had rushed back to the cornfield, searching and screaming hours and hours for Sam and Angela.

He knew they both must hurt, being confused, not knowing what had happened. And he finally decided that he needed help.

"Angela…" he rasped into the silence of the diner. "She went after the psycho who tried to kill her husband. My brother and me…" he coughed, swaying dangerously. "My brother and me, tried to stop her… I don't know what happened; I got a knock on my head. When I woke up, both were gone…" he took another couple of deep breaths. "I think they're hurt… we… I searched them, but they got lost in the fields. I… I… need help." There it was. He had asked for help. Someone grabbed him on his shoulders, steering him toward the nearest booth, gently forcing him to sit. At first he tried to struggle, but as a glass of water was placed in front of him, he grabbed for it, downing it in big gulps.

"Sarah, get Sheriff Beckett, I'll get the guys for a search-party." Dean felt someone clapping his shoulder reassuringly. "Not the first time, someone got lost in the fields. We'll find them." Dean looked up into the face of the man who had spoken. He was old, his hair and beard almost white, the skin on his face wrinkled and tanned from too much sun, but his eyes were gentle, clear and crystal-blue. He sat now on the opposite seat watching Dean carefully.

"Did you saw it?" the man asked silently.

Dean returned his glance, trying to assess the man. "You know, my grandfather died in the cornfields, about 51 years ago. My grandmother always told me about him, and about the legend. I always liked the story, it was a cool and creepy ghost-story. Then, some time ago those men were hurt out there… and now, I'm not so sure anymore that it is just a legend…"

Dean stared at him. "Whatever it was, it will never harm anyone again…" he simply stated, and then pushed himself up, the exhaustion still present, but he had a more important need. He had to find his brother.

_SPNSPN_

They had been searching for hours now. It was midday already, and with every passing minute, Dean's worry increased. He kept on walking like a machine now. James, the man from the diner was beside him. His voice was hoarse from calling for Sam, but he kept shouting anyways. He was put out of his stupor, as James walkie-talkie crackled. "We found Angela." The voice told them. Dean's hope was again a false one; he wanted Sam to be found. He was the one that left him… he needed to make this right.  
He ignored James, who still kept talking to the other man, getting information on Angelas condition and kept walking and screaming.

"**Sammy**!"

...

Sam flinched. He was too hot and too hurt to care anymore, still he tried hard to escape the place between waking and sleeping, ordering his ears to listen. There, again, he heard some noise, and he was sure he didn't have to be afraid of it. That sound he had heard told him everything was okay now… he didn't have to worry or be scared anymore… with this last thought his consciousness was gone again. Blackness wrapping itself like a soothing blanket around him…

...

To Dean it seemed like a small eternity now; while he had kept on walking, searching, calling, and almost he had passed by the crumbled heap on the ground, hidden by corn-shrubs. But something just stopped him and he looked down.

With two steps he was beside his prone kid brother, afraid to touch him, but at the same time needing it to reassure himself. Gently he put his hands on Sam's shoulder, turning him over.

"James! James!" he screamed on the top of his lungs, cradling his brother to him, feeling the hot skin, the soft rise and fall of his chest, the erratic pulse under his finger-tips.

"Everything's gonna be alright, Sammy. You did well. I gotcha now, I gotcha…"

...

At first the young man had declined every help, but James knew he soon would crash. He wasn't disappointed in his assumption. They hadn't managed one third of their way, as the boy stumbled and finally gave into James offer. Together they carried their precious burden back and out of the cornfield.  
James watched as the older of the two siblings observed the paramedics assessing his little brother's condition. He saw him swaying as finally the exhaustion swept him from his feet.

Dean never felt hitting the ground...

* * *

...TBC... for the final chapter and epilogue!!


	8. Chapter 7

Hey all! Okay, now it's just a small last chapter and a even smaller epilogue. Sorry, I think I have to work on the chapter-parting... on the other side. I think this is somehow something that should stay separate. Hope you don't mind!

Lee

* * *

_3 days later…_

Dean wasn't sure what had woken him up. For a moment he searched for the knife he always kept under his pillow, but then he recognized he wasn't in a bed. He sat in a chair, a hospital-chair. He opened one eye, to see someone staring down at him and with a jolt he sat up, wincing as the fast movement jostled his ribs and all the other bruises. Still he started to smile a huge and full smile. "Hey!" he gently coaxed and leaned forward to be face to face with his brother.

"Hey…" Sam answered in return, his voice soft and laced with sleep. He scrunched his nose, as he felt his chest hurt with every breath he took. "Shit… what happened?" he asked, his voice groggy. Dean's smile even got broader. "Well, you attracted trouble – as always." He teased, while his hand rested on Sam's shoulder.

"Do you want me to call someone? They do have great stuff here to help with the pain. But I just send your nurse away, not wanting to traumatise you with her presence. You know, I don't know what it is about you. My nurse at least was hot, while your's…" he stopped for a moment wiggling his eyebrows, "well she's more the natural type, with hairs… uhhh… everywhere – even in her face!" "Dude…" Sam tried to breath evenly, still he couldn't help the small giggle. His brother was hopeless.

"You still didn't tell me what happened exactly. How long was I out? I only remember bits and pieces. I know that we've been wrong about who was haunting the place…" Sam's forehead crinkled in concentration, "but the rest is all a jumbled mix up. I know we tried to get out of the field. Angela… was possessed… and then…" Sam stopped there, his eyes staring into his brothers. Dean knew this look, haunted and guilty. "There was a second ghost… I could hear it whisper… I was possessed… and you…" "I'm okay, Sammy. I'm almost unscathed. Okay? Just stop it and don't go there. We both had false assumptions. It wasn't one ghost, it was two of them. And that's it! We got out. We're alive… end of story!"

"I almost killed you." Sam said, his eyes downcast.

"Sam… Sam, look at me." Dean forced his brothers chin up to meet his gaze.

"Shit happens, okay? You had no control over it. I'm just happy… I'm just happy you're okay." Dean said his voice deadly serious. _"If you only knew… it could be otherwise."_ He thought quietly, while again a grin started to break through. _"But it takes more to keep a Winchester down…"_

Sam yawned audible. Dean shook his head and chuckled slightly. "Go ahead and get some rest. I'll be here when you wake up again."  
For a moment Sam remembered the abandonment he had felt in the field, but this time he was safe. With a slight nod of his head, he snuggled deeper into the pillows, relaxing into the warm feeling of reliance and familiarity.

Dean sat there, watching over his little brother's sleep. All was good now.

**FIN**


	9. Epilogue

and right away...

**EPILOGUE**

_a few days later..._

They stood quietly and close together, watching through the window to see the only occupant in the room.

Angela laid on the bed, curled up into a small ball. Her hair hanging loosely and wild around her, her bangs falling in her face. She had her thumb put into her mouth, sucking on it, like a small child would.

They had talked to James before they went to see the waitress. The doctors weren't sure if she would ever come back again. Angela was gone. Her mind shattered the night of August 6th, the same night, her husband Frank died. Sam felt tears stinging his eyes, but he swallowed them down.

He turned away from the poor woman in the room, turning to his brother. He didn't know if he should feel angry or thankful. He couldn't begin to imagine what his brother had gone through, after that night.

"You know…" Dean said, his green eyes glistening traitorously. "… I didn't believe you would give up like her." He said. "But… after the second day… I wasn't so sure about it anymore…" he saw Dean swallow past the lump in his throat.  
Then the mask of his brother was back in place.

Dean turned and said while starting to walk away: "I knew Cutter Simpson was a wimp… now lets go or do you want to grow roots here?"

Sam looked at the retreating back of his brother, then turned his head one last time to Angela.

Sam would always have one reason to come back. He wiped at his eyes, smiling as his big brother turned around walking backwards, spreading his arms wide and called: "What Sammy! Lets go! I'm hungry!" And he hurried to catch up with him...

So, thank you again for reading this story. It's done... I hoped you all enjoy. I'm already on a new story. Nope! I'm not out of ideas yet... sorry, you have to endure more of my stories... I'm afraid -gg-

tc, Lee


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